Writers Block Ch 03

[To My Readers: I'm quite sorry this chapter has taken so long. I probably shouldn't have named this story "Writer's Block", since it's apparently become one for me! But trust me, I'm working out the kinks as best I can and fully intend to tell Imogen & Sim's story to the best of my abilities. I thank you as always for your very kind reception of this new storyline and for your positive feedback. All the best -- firstkiss]

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"Nice place..." Sim quipped as I cleared a space for him to sit in my messy office.

I glared, trying to keep a straight face when I saw the teasing glint in his chocolate brown eyes. "Thanks," I muttered, moving a stack of notes and bills. "Go easy on me, I work from home. Plus I'm not exactly the domestic type."

Sim shrugged. "Creative minds are rarely tidy."

I nodded. "Good. We understand each other then." I gestured towards the desk chair I'd just cleared. "Have a seat."

"So, what precisely are we doing?" Sim asked as I sat beside him and flicked my laptop on.

"Research," I teased, drumming my fingers impatiently against the desk, waiting for the wireless to kick in. I opened the internet browser and clicked on my 'favourites' folder. Sim's eyes grew wide as he watched the website names appear.

"Holy crap," he murmured.

I shrugged. "Ya gotta read what you wanna write."

Sim regarded me silently for a moment. "Do you read it a lot?"

I laughed and opened up one of my favourite story sites. "Not so much any more," I confessed. "There are a few authors whose work I like, so I follow what they're working on, but now that I'm writing it myself I'm pretty busy, besides I find it distracts me."

"So do you have to pay for this stuff, or what?"

"Sometimes." I clicked on a promising title to bring the story up on screen. "But there are a lot of free sites too, which you'll have to keep in mind, competition and all. Mind you, a great deal of it is crap and painful to read since anyone with a computer can submit a dirty story." I glanced over at Sim as he shifted in his chair. "Don't tell me you've never read online erotica."

Sim cleared his throat. "Well... no, actually I haven't. I read at work all day long, so when I get home I'm..."

"More of a picture guy, huh?" I supplied, trying to spare him a little embarrassment. Sim had the decency to blush and I laughed. He was such a contradiction: cocky and flirty at times, boyishly hesitant at others. Although I suppose most people aren't accustomed to discussing such things with a virtual stranger.

"You know," I teased, "if you're going to publish erotica you're going to have to loosen up a bit."

Sim ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and smiled sheepishly before his eyes flickered down the screen briefly to read the words there; the resulting expression on his face was priceless.

"People read this stuff?"

"People love this stuff," I laughed.

"D-do you write stuff like this?" Sim asked huskily. I tried to ignore the hoarse sexiness of his voice.

"No, it's not my style," I grinned. "I don't personally care for the whips and chains myself, although there certainly is a huge market for it."

Sim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"You okay? Do you need a glass of cold water?" I asked, legitimately concerned as his usually swarthy complexion paled.

Sim chuckled. "Cold shower is more like it." I laughed along with him. "Actually," he admitted when we'd quieted, "I could use a drink."

"Sure. Water? Milk? Gingerale?" I offered.

"Got anything stronger?"

"Rye."

"Yeah," Sim murmured. "I'll have one of those."

"Straight?" I stood up, grinning. It was only mid-afternoon, but I was feeling like I could use a drink myself.

"Throw a little gingerale in it, if you don't mind."

I laughed all the way to the kitchen. When I returned with two large rye and gingers brimming with ice Sim was scrolling through the story, reading intently.

"Do you like it?" I asked, handing him his drink.

Sim took a sip, nodding. "Yeah, it's really good; once you get past the whips and chains it's very well written."

I giggled. "You're not supposed to get past the whips and chains, Sim; whips and chains are the whole point."

"Not when you're an editor," Sim pointed out. He leaned casually back in his chair and grinned at me. "A good editor reads the story with two sets of eyes." I must have looked confused because he hurried on. "When I read a story for the first time I have to see the different levels of it; spelling, grammar, punctuation, format: these things can be fixed, tweaked, made better. Plot, dialogue, description, characterization: these things are inherent. If a story lack those elements it's not going anywhere, no matter how perfect the grammar."

"The story doesn't have to appeal to you personally? It just has to have an appeal?" I asked. I'd never picked an editor's brain before; as a writer, I was intrigued.

"Well, it certainly doesn't hurt if I like it," Sim explained. "But my taste is very different from that of the general public; what's going to sell isn't necessarily what I like personally. It's my job to consider the public's tastes over my own."

"Oh," I said teasingly. "So you're more of a whips and chains sort of guy working in a vanilla world?"

Sim opened his mouth to reply and then closed it wordlessly before laughing sharply and taking a swig of his drink. "Yeah, in a manner of speaking I guess I am. It's fair to say my personal taste is a little less mainstream." He leaned forward and double-checked the pen name on the screen. "Okay, so I've read mystryssofthenyte's fine work, what else do you have for me?"

"I don't know, are we looking for recruits or are we just trying to get a feel for the genre?"

Sim chuckled. "I don't think I'm quite ready to graduate from Erotica 101 just yet, so let's just get a feel."

I nodded, scrolling down the index of stories to another title. "Fair enough. Should you be taking notes?"

Sim shook his dark head. "Plenty of time for that later. Who's this?" He leaned forward to read the small screen of my laptop and his shoulder brushed against mine. I jumped at the scalding contact and tried to ignore Sim's arrogant grin.

"This is lustyenuf4u," I said with a laugh. "Haven't figured out if it's a guy or a girl writing, but I really like their stuff."

"Why?" Sim's eyes were diamond bright, curiosity evident on every line of his handsome face.

I shrugged. "I don't know. His or her descriptions are extremely good; it's so immediate, like being there. And it all seems completely effortless; as a fellow writer I guess I'm a little envious of that skill."

Sim settled back in his chair, cradling his drink between his hands. "Read it."

"O-kay," I said slowly, unsure of where he was going with his request. I read the first paragraph, my eyes skimming the screen quickly.

"Out loud."

I looked over my shoulder; Sim was grinning broadly. "Pardon?" I asked.

"Out loud, Imogen. Please read it out loud." It wasn't really a request, more like a demand.

"Why?"

"You said this person has good, immediate descriptions. I just want to prove you right. Reading out loud helps me to visualize."

I quickly reread the first paragraph to myself, blushing furiously.

"What's wrong Imogen? You use those words when you write. Can't you say them out loud?" There was a teasing note in Sim's words which irked my temper.

"N-no," I stammered, only too aware of my cheeks burning brightly. "I've never been very good at talking dirty."

Sim chuckled warmly and the sound sent a frisson of awareness straight through me. "You're good at writing dirty; besides, it's not like you're talking to me. It's just a story and this is just research, so read it. Out loud."

Taking a deep breath I complied; my voice wavered initially, but as the story progressed I grew more comfortable with it. It also helped that I didn't have to look at Sim. I could feel the heat of his gaze watching me and I tried to ignore the sensation and concentrate on the words on the computer screen, all the while cursing myself for picking that particular story; it was really hot and featured a few situations I'd never in a million years write about, never mind attempt.

When the female lead of the story finally reached her very vocal and descriptive climax I stumbled over the phrasing and stopped reading, very aware of how hard I was blushing.

Flustered, I glanced over my shoulder at Sim who sat silently, watching me with heavy intent. His drink was empty and he had a crooked grin on his handsome face which I didn't quite trust. I couldn't bring myself to look down to see if the story had affected him as much as it had me, but I didn't really need to see the bulge in his jeans to know that it did. The gleam in his eyes gave him away.

"I need another drink," I mumbled, rising clumsily to my feet. I fled to the kitchen without looking back. I was only half-way through my second glass of water when Sim appeared behind me.

"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly.

I kept my eyes on the view from the window over my sink. "I'm fine."

Sim chuckled lowly. He was standing very close behind me, all but trapping me against the countertop.

"I don't think you are," he drawled, his breath hot against my ear. "That turned you on, didn't it?"

I shook my head vehemently; I didn't trust my voice.

"It turned me on," he laughed in my ear. "If you're ever looking a day job you could narrate those things for a living. Any guy with a heartbeat and a hard-on would pay a fortune to hear that sweet little voice of yours say things like that."

I closed my eyes; even with my back to him I was aware of every square inch of his broad torso. It was way too warm in my kitchen. I drank the rest of my water with a gulp.

"Will you read me one of yours next?" he asked.

"No," I replied without hesitation.

"Why not?" He sounded almost hurt.

I didn't reply. I couldn't get the words past the lump in my throat.

"Too personal Imogen? Would it hit too close to home? Are your heroines you?"

I leaned forward and again filled my empty glass with cold water from the tap, downing half the glass with one unladylike chug.

Sim's laugh rumbled deeply in his throat. "When Lena is frantically riding Aidan's long, hard cock it's really you, isn't it?"

I closed my eyes, leaning heavily against the countertop with one hand, still desperately clutching the cold glass of water in the other. It was the only solid anchor in a room that was otherwise spinning, crowded with the sound and scent and presence of Simeon Forster.

"Imogen," Sim purred, pressing himself against me. His breathing was as ragged as my own. His erection nestled against the base of my spine.

I gasped and shuddered and then without thinking I threw the cold contents of my glass of water over my shoulder.

"What the fuck Imogen!" Sim yelled, stepping back. I whirled around, all too aware of the cold water seeping down my own back; it hadn't all hit him.

"I told you I'm not that kind of girl," I growled, glad for the distance I'd put between us, it made it easier to think. I tried not to look at Sim as he paced the length of my kitchen, cursing me; the water had soaked the front of his white t-shirt and it clung most appealingly to his broad chest.

"What the hell is your problem? What are you - gay?" Sim snarled, shooting me a dirty look. "It's fine if you are, but you could have told me sooner."

I laughed. "I'm not gay, Sim. I told you that if this project was just an elaborate ploy to get in my pants it wouldn't work."

Sim stopped his pacing and came to stand over me. He had to be at least 6 feet tall, which gave him quite an advantage over my own petite stature. "You want me, Imogen. I know you do."

I said nothing, but averted my eyes to look someplace over Sim's shoulder. His chocolate brown gaze was too piercing.

"You do," he murmured lowly. "I see the way you look at me. And you know I damn well want you too, so what's the problem?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out.

"Give me one night," Sim whispered, taking another step closer. "Just one night, Imogen and if you don't want to talk about it ever again I'm fine with that."

For one brief moment I wanted to give in. I knew Simeon Forster would be good in bed and the flicker of arousal in my belly would have loved if I'd consented, but my brain wouldn't shut off, no matter how much my body wanted it to.

"I'm not going to fuck you Sim just because you've gotten all riled up over a little story," I said stubbornly. "If you're going to edit erotica you're going to need to develop a thicker skin than that."

"Why?" he asked huskily. "You write the stuff and your skin hasn't gotten any thicker. You're just as turned on as I am."

I nodded, unable to lie. "Yeah, but I'm not the one looking to do something about it."

There was an odd look in Sim's eye and I felt a moment of panic. I wanted to run away, but his gaze held me frozen in place. I knew he was going to kiss me but I couldn't seem to move.

Sim's kiss was fierce, claiming every corner of my mouth with considerable skill. I moaned loudly, my brain fighting against the rush of sensations, but when I tried to take a step back Sim followed, clutching my arms roughly and pushing me against the kitchen cupboards. I could feel the edge of the countertop dig into my back and the heated wall of Sim's torso in front; I felt trapped, panicked, and very aroused.

"You're going to say 'no' to that?" Sim growled as the kiss ended.

I nodded weakly, amazed that my mind could still function when such heat burned in my belly.

Sim studied me intently and an understanding light flickered in his eyes. I averted my gaze. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Are you a virgin?"

I took a step aside, shaking my head vehemently. "No. Not exactly," I stammered. I could feel a blush tint my cheeks.

"Not exactly? What the hell does that mean? You are or you're not, Imogen; there really isn't an 'exactly' about it."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Sim stepped closer as I retreated and he effectively backed me into a corner of the kitchen cabinetry, his beautiful brown eyes were probing and I knew I couldn't lie to him; silence was my only defence.

Sim grabbed my wrist the same way he had the first day we met, firmly and warmly. I shivered at the touch and tried not to look him in the eyes, but he tilted my chin up with his free hand. "You might as well tell me the truth, Imogen, because I'll find out one way or another."

I processed his words through a fog. "I've had sex, but...," I whispered raggedly, pausing.

"But...?" Sim urged.

"But it was only once. And it was a long time ago." I felt the heat of my shame settle on my face. Sim still had a firm grip on my chin, but I closed my eyes so I didn't have to look at him.

"Tell me."

"I-I was eighteen and it was a terrible, painful mistake," I gulped nervously, feeling the heavy weight of regret anew. "I didn't really want to, wasn't really given a choice, but by then it was too late and since then, I..."

"But you write about it," Sim said lowly. "You write about it so well."

I shrugged. "Ironic, huh? I've done my research," I offered weakly.

"No you haven't," Sim countered, exerting a gentle pressure to my chin. "Open your eyes and look at me, Imogen."

I obeyed, shocked by the very real concern I saw reflected back.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I-I know," I mumbled, all too aware of the rising panic of my voice. He wasn't supposed to know, no one was supposed to know.

"Whoever he was, he was an asshole and he should be shot," Sim said lowly. "He's done a terrible thing to you. You've missed out on so much."

"Do you think I don't know that?" I asked bitterly. "I suppose you're going to volunteer to remedy the situation?"

Sim started slightly at the derision in my voice. "You know how I feel, Imogen; you know what I want. But this really isn't about me. How can you write about something you know nothing about?"

"I know about it," I shot back angrily. "Slot A, Tab B; insert someplace warm and moist, repeat. I know the words Sim, the concepts. I understand how it works."

"Understanding how something works is vastly different from experiencing it yourself, Imogen."

"I know!" I cried. "You think I don't know that? But what the hell am I supposed to do about it?"

Sim's eyes darkened and he leaned over me. My heart hammered in my chest so frantically he must have been able to feel it he was so close. "Let me show you."

My breath caught in my throat.

"I want to show you everything, Imogen. It will be so amazing between us, I promise you. You should experience it; you deserve to. You're a beautiful, sensual woman; you can't go on living in fear of something that happened years ago. Let it go and I promise you that you won't regret it. I'm not some callous teenager who's going to hurt you. There's so much pleasure from giving pleasure Imogen and I very much want to pleasure you."

There were no words, nothing I could say to convince myself that Sim was wrong or that I didn't want him. I was afraid to open my mouth and give him my consent, but just as afraid to say no and let the opportunity pass me by.

I stared at Sim and fought the trembling of my bottom lip. I could feel the tears just behind my eyelids fighting to escape, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction; besides, I was always a horrible, blotchy mess when I cried.

Sim reached out and gently traced the side of my jaw, brushing his fingers gently over my cheek and nose before sweeping down to trace the outline of my lips. "You teach me about erotica, I teach you about sex. Seems like a fair trade off to me," he whispered. "I'll start you off with the vanilla stuff, I promise."

I couldn't help but laugh. "What, no whips and chains?"

Sim's chuckle was deep and reverberated thrillingly in my chest. "Only if that's what you want, Imogen."

"Convince me," I whispered breathlessly. Confusion flitted over Sim's handsome face.

"Uh... I thought I was." He reached to trace the rounded swell of my breast through my t-shirt, but I slapped his hand away. "What the hell?" Sim grumbled.

I tried to ignore the fact that my nipples were rock hard and very likely completely obvious beneath my t-shirt. "Tell me," I smiled slowly as Sim growled lowly in his throat. "You like words so much, so tell me what you'd like to do."

The confusion on Sim's face was replaced instantly by a wicked grin which made me shiver. "I thought you didn't like talking dirty," he chuckled.

"I don't," I laughed as I blushed. "But that doesn't mean I don't like hearing it. This is a big chance you're asking me to take. So pitch it to me."

Sim nodded slowly and then was silent for so long I started to get nervous.

"What would you do first?" I prompted, afraid I'd asked too much of him. I might not know much about men, but I knew there was only so far you could push them before they'd walk out the door and look for an easier target.

Sim's brown eyes flashed. He took a step closer to me, but didn't touch me. I focussed on the white fabric edge where his t-shirt met his neck and tried to resist the sudden urge to kiss him there, just a little, to see how he tasted.

"I'd kiss you first," Sim said huskily, the words coming out thickly. "I'd kiss you until you couldn't stand upright, until you didn't want to; and then I could lay you down. It's so much easier to touch every part of you if we're lying down."

I bit back the moan which jumped to my lips. Sim chuckled. I could feel the intense heat radiating off his broad chest and wondered dreamily what he looked like without the damp t-shirt covering him.

"You have fantastic breasts," Sim said quietly. "That tasteful little bit of cleavage you like to show so much and the way your hard nipples look under that t-shirt you're wearing; you have no idea what that does to a man. It makes me want to run my fingers across your nipples and feel them harden even more. I can't wait to see them, to taste them."